TG Gourmet

Simit is a Turkish sesame bread ring dipped in pekmez (grape molasses) and baked until crisp; a bagel is boiled, then baked, which makes it dense and chewy. Simit is lighter, crunchier, and crusted in toasted sesame, while a bagel has a smooth, glossy shell built for slicing and schmear.

Put a simit and a bagel side by side and they look like cousins. Both are rings. Both are lean, yeasted breads with roots in street food. But bite into each one and the family resemblance falls apart fast — one shatters, the other resists. The difference starts in the dough and ends in two completely different breakfast cultures, one built around a tulip glass of tea in Istanbul, the other around a paper-wrapped deli order in New York.

This comparison is part of our Turkish breakfast guide — simit is one of the first things on any kahvaltı table, so it's worth knowing exactly what makes it different from the ring bread most Americans grew up with.

Key Takeaways

• Simit is dipped in diluted pekmez (grape molasses) and rolled in sesame before baking; bagels are boiled in water, often with barley malt, before baking.
• Simit bakes up thin, crisp, and airy. A bagel is thick, dense, and chewy — the boil gelatinizes the crust and locks in that pull.
• Simit shows up in Ottoman records from the 1500s; the first written mention of the bagel comes from Kraków, Poland, in 1610.
• Simit is torn by hand and eaten with tea, white cheese, and olives. A bagel is sliced and spread — cream cheese, butter, lox.
• You don't need a plane ticket for either one. Frozen simit ships across the US and re-crisps in a home oven in minutes.

What Is a Simit, Exactly?

Simit is Turkey's everyday bread ring: a thin loop of lean dough, dipped in watered-down pekmez, pressed into sesame seeds, and baked hot until the outside crackles. The pekmez is the quiet genius of the whole thing. That thin coat of grape molasses caramelizes in the oven, glues on a dense crust of sesame, and gives the ring its deep amber color and faint sweetness.

It's old, too. Ottoman archive records mention simit being baked in Istanbul as far back as the 1520s, which means street vendors were selling these rings a full century before anyone wrote down the word "bagel." In İzmir they call it gevrek — literally "crisp" — which tells you exactly what locals think the defining feature is.

We covered the full story — history, regional styles, how it's baked — in our guide to what simit is, and you'll find simit itself alongside other Turkish breads in our bakery collection. For the wider family — pide, bazlama, lavaş — see our Turkish bread guide.

What Is a Bagel?

The bagel is Eastern European. The earliest written record comes from Kraków in 1610, in Jewish community regulations that mention bajgiel given as a gift to women after childbirth. Jewish immigrants carried the recipe to New York in the late 1800s, and by the early 1900s bagel-making there was serious enough to have its own union — Local 338, whose members guarded the craft closely.

What defines a bagel isn't the ring shape. It's the boil. Bagel dough is stiff, made with high-gluten flour, shaped into fat rings, and dropped into simmering water — usually sweetened with barley malt — for around a minute before baking. That short swim cooks the outer layer of dough, which is why a proper bagel has that smooth, glossy, slightly blistered shell and a crumb you have to chew through.

How Is the Dough Made and Shaped Differently?

Both breads start lean: flour, water, yeast, salt, little or no fat. From there they part ways.

Simit dough is rolled into thin ropes — often two strands twisted together like a loose braid — and joined into a wide, slender ring. There's not much dough there, and that's the point. A thin ring means more crust per bite.

Bagel dough is the opposite: stiff, dense, rolled into one thick rope and sealed into a compact ring. High-gluten flour and a long cold ferment build the structure that survives boiling. Where simit maximizes crust, the bagel maximizes chew.

Why Does Simit Get a Pekmez Dip?

Before baking, each ring takes a quick bath in pekmez thinned with water, then gets pressed into a tray of sesame seeds. The molasses does three jobs at once: it makes the sesame stick in a thick, even coat, it browns the crust to that signature mahogany color, and it adds a whisper of grape sweetness under the toasted sesame. No boil, no egg wash — just molasses, sesame, and a hot oven.

Why Are Bagels Boiled First?

The boil is what separates a bagel from a roll with a hole. Thirty to sixty seconds per side in malty water gelatinizes the starch on the surface, so the crust sets before the crumb can expand much in the oven. The result is that dense, springy interior and shiny skin. Skip the boil and you get soft bread pretending.

Simit vs. Bagel: Side-by-Side Comparison

How Different Do They Taste?

Very. A fresh simit shatters when you tear it. The sesame — and there's a lot of it, toasted dark in the oven — carries most of the flavor, with the pekmez adding a low hum of sweetness you notice more in the aroma than on the tongue. The crumb inside is thin and light, closer to a breadstick than a sandwich bread.

A bagel makes you work. The crust gives a soft snap, then the interior pulls back — that chew is the whole personality of the bread. On its own a plain bagel tastes mild and faintly malty, which is deliberate. It's a canvas. The toppings do the talking.

A fair one-line summary: simit is flavor baked in, bagel is flavor piled on.

Street Cart in Istanbul or Deli Counter in New York?

Simit is Turkey's street food heartbeat. Simitçi vendors push red-and-gold glass carts along the Bosphorus, stack rings on wooden trays balanced overhead, and sell them to ferry commuters who eat one leaning on the railing while gulls circle for crumbs. It's breakfast, it's a 4 p.m. snack, it's what you grab when you're running late. Nobody sits down for a simit unless there's tea involved.

Bagel culture runs through the deli counter. You wait in line, you order fast — everything with scallion schmear, toasted — and it comes wrapped in paper, heavy in the hand. The bagel became New York's breakfast the same way simit became Istanbul's: cheap, filling, portable, and tied to the rhythm of people getting to work.

Same idea, two cities, two completely different rituals.

How Do You Eat a Simit vs. a Bagel?

You never slice a simit. You tear it. The classic pairing is a hunk of simit, a slab of beyaz peynir — Turkish white cheese, salty and bright — a few olives, sliced tomato, and hot black tea in a tulip glass. Some people go sweet instead: simit torn and dragged through jam or honey. If you're building the spread at home, start with our cheese collection and a jar from the jam collection, and brew the tea properly — our guide to Turkish tea culture walks through the double-teapot method.

A bagel is architecture. Slice, toast (or don't — a fighting topic in New York), then build: cream cheese, butter, lox and capers, egg and cheese. The chew is structural. It holds fillings a simit never could.

One more difference worth knowing: simit goes stale fast. In Turkey it's baked continuously through the day and eaten within hours. That's why frozen simit — baked, then flash-frozen — is actually the honest way to get it in the US. Reheat it and the crust comes back.

Where Can You Buy Simit in the US?

Unless you live near a Turkish bakery in a handful of cities — parts of New Jersey, Brooklyn, Chicago — fresh simit is hard to come by. The practical route is frozen simit shipped cold, which bakes back to crisp in a 400°F oven in about ten minutes.

We've been sourcing Turkish groceries for American kitchens since 2003, back when we were Tulumba.com, and simit has been in the lineup from the start because it's one of the foods Turkish expats ask us about most. Pair it with proper çay from our tea collection and Sunday breakfast stops feeling so far from home.

Frequently Asked Questions

Is simit just a Turkish bagel?

No, and calling it one annoys people on both sides. Simit is thinner, crisper, sesame-crusted, and dipped in grape molasses instead of boiled. The ring shape is where the similarity ends — the technique, texture, and history are all different.

Is simit boiled like a bagel?

No. Simit skips the boil entirely. It's dipped in pekmez (grape molasses) diluted with water, coated in sesame seeds, and baked directly. The molasses dip is what gives simit its color and helps the sesame form a solid crust.

Does simit taste sweet?

Only faintly. The pekmez caramelizes in the oven and leaves a subtle molasses note under the toasted sesame, but simit is a savory bread. It pairs with cheese and olives, not frosting.

What do you traditionally eat with simit?

Hot black tea, beyaz peynir (white cheese), olives, and tomatoes are the classic combination. Sweet versions exist too — simit with jam, honey, or chocolate-hazelnut spread is a common kids' breakfast in Turkey.

How do I reheat frozen simit?

Straight from the freezer into a 400°F (200°C) oven for 8–10 minutes. Skip the microwave — it softens the crust, and the crust is the whole point. A quick oven reheat restores the crackle.

What is gevrek?

Gevrek is what simit is called in İzmir and much of the Aegean coast. The word means "crisp" in Turkish. İzmir locals will tell you gevrek is slightly different from Istanbul simit — a touch thicker, baked a shade darker — and they're not entirely wrong.